


Like A Human

by Reis_Asher



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Drunk Sex, Frottage, Heavy Angst, Loneliness, M/M, Post-Canon, Public Sex, Sad Ending, Snow, Trans Connor (Detroit: Become Human)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-27
Updated: 2019-11-27
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:14:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,481
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21582076
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Reis_Asher/pseuds/Reis_Asher
Summary: Connor's trying to figure himself out, and when Hank makes no contact with him after the Chicken Feed hug, he goes in search of the man who is his only connection to humanity.
Relationships: Hank Anderson/Connor
Comments: 1
Kudos: 76





	Like A Human

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: No happy-ever-after or happy-for-now ending. Unhealthy, drunken back-alley sex with a Connor who's still trying to figure himself out. Connor has transmasc genitalia in this fic.

It was snowing heavily as Connor walked along Michigan Avenue, trudging through the buildup on the sidewalk. There were no snowplows to clear it now that androids had deviated and walked off the job. Most of the homes stood empty, humans leery about returning now that Detroit belonged to androids.

One home beckoned in the dark night, however, light glowing from the windows in an unspoken invitation. Hank's home stood out on the street, his Oldsmobile parked in the driveway. Connor walked up to the house and knocked on the front door. Locked. He tried peering through the side windows as he had once before, but there was nothing of interest to be seen. A piece of cheap particle board covered the broken kitchen window but Hank wasn't home. His revolver sat on the table but there was no body passed out on the floor, not this time.

Connor returned to the front of the house and scanned the snow to find footprints matching Hank's shoe size. They were approaching ninety minutes old, barely visible, blanketed as they were by heavy settlement. Connor followed the tracks, hoping the trail would lead him to Hank. 

He'd heard nothing since their reunion three weeks ago in front of Chicken Feed. It was as if Hank had ceased to exist, and Connor had preconstructed several scenarios in which the Lieutenant had been attacked, taken ill, or succumbed to his depression, to the point his fears were preventing his systems from operating nominally. Why had Hank seemed so warm and then cut him off entirely? Connor had never experienced pain until the moment he considered the possibility that maybe Hank wanted nothing to do with him. That he considered his obligation complete now he'd checked on Connor's welfare after the revolution and was content to merge into the shadows to die alone. He'd had to run several diagnostics on his thirium pump—all of which told him the squeeze he felt in his chest was caused by psychological stress and not biocomponent malfunction. Androids could self-destruct if their stress level became too high. He was aware of the fact he could literally die from heartache.

He missed Hank, and that loneliness overpowered even his fear of rejection. He didn't fit in with the androids at Jericho. Many of them resented humans. They couldn't understand why Connor still missed Hank. Connor wasn't sure he understood it himself, but he needed to know why this invisible cord of friendship had developed between them and if it should be cut.

It was cold—nineteen degrees Fahrenheit, to be precise. Too cold for Hank to be trudging around outside. Perhaps he'd simply gone to a local convenience store for beer. Some stores were still open, operating in the hopes that keeping the lights on would deter any looters thinking of scoring some easy money in the chaos of the revolution's aftermath. Hank might have taken the car, but if he was already inebriated, he might not have felt safe driving in the snow. Not that he should have been driving drunk at all, but Hank was a stubborn man to coach. The rules of society didn't chain him down. He didn't care enough about what others thought of him for it to matter.

Connor ducked into a doorway as he noticed a figure across the street, drinking from a bottle in a paper bag. He analyzed the shape of the man, and found it was a 99% match to his data on Hank.

His thirium pump squeezed again, making Connor feel lightheaded. He didn't need to breathe, but cutting off the thirium supply to his biocomponents caused an unpleasant malfunction that threatened to force him into maintenance mode. He'd be helpless if that happened now. Nobody would know he was out here, and he was likely to get scooped up and stripped for parts if human looters found him.

Hank slid down the wall. A light flickered above him, threatening to give out and throw him into darkness. The snow floated down, landing on his shoulders and hair, but Hank seemed to give it no mind as he slumped in the snow, taking another swig from the bottle.

Connor crossed the road and knelt down beside Hank, prying the bottle from his fingers. Hank put up a fight, but Connor was stronger, and only after he held the bottle fully in his plastic fingers did he realize it was already empty. The paper bag fell off it, revealing a bottle of cheap whiskey. Hank had wanted to get drunk fast and had obviously succeeded.

"Hank, it's me, Connor." Connor slapped his cheek gently. Hank's eyes rolled open, his mouth twisting into a drunken grin.

"Connor, huh?" Hank laughed. "Sh'yeah right." He seemed to sober up as he looked into Connor's eyes, recognition dawning in his blue gaze. "Why the fuck d'ya come back here?"

"I was worried about you," Connor stated. "I missed you, Hank. You haven't kept in touch. I thought something terrible might have happened to you."

Hank smiled. "You're too good for this world, kid. S'why I had to get away from you."

"What do you mean?" Connor pulled Hank's coat tightly around him, buttoning it. He hauled Hank to his feet, supporting the big man's weight without too much effort.

"I know you're attracted to me. Don't take a rocket scientist to see it. You deserve better than to get stuck with the first person who showed you any kinda compassion. 'Specially since I treated you like fuckin' shit." Hank lurched away from Connor and grabbed the lamp post, whipping out his dick and pissing into the storm drain. "Look at me. I'm nothin' special, Connor. I can't give ya what you need."

"You're not interested in me?" Connor asked.

"I'm not stupid and I'm not straight, son. Of course I'm attracted to you. That's got nothin' to do with it." Hank sighed and turned away, muttering to himself. "Fuckin' android never listens to a word I say…"

"I'm listening," Connor replied. He couldn't name the emotion that came up quick and hot, flooding his thirium pipes with unexpected energy, readying him for a fight. "I'm not a child, and I'm not going to be brushed off because you don't think you're good enough for me."

"Plastic's got some fight in him," Hank grinned, but his teeth looked more menacing than cute in the low light. "I'm in the mood to make some bad decisions tonight. Is that why you came here, Connor? To see me at my worst?"

"I came here to help you," Connor said. "I'm going to take you home and let you sleep this off."

"You shouldn't, you know," Hank slurred. "My rational brain's likely to tell you to take a fuckin' hike in the morning. S'what's best for you."

"I'm aware of that," Connor said, his voice quieter than he'd ever heard it. Of course he was aware. He'd come here expecting to be rejected. Hank was right. He was an alcoholic who needed rehab but didn't want it. He'd put a gun to Connor's head and would likely do so again, once he was robbed of his inhibitions by alcohol. He was probably correct in his assertion that Connor was latching onto the first person to show him real kindness. They would probably harm one another more than they could repair, spiraling downwards into a cycle of destruction that would end any attempts to remain friends.

And yet… Hank had used the word 'attracted' to describe his feelings regarding Connor, and Connor realized how accurate that word was. Like a magnet drawn to its polar opposite, Connor felt himself speeding towards the chaos and fury that Hank represented. It was the furthest thing from CyberLife's mission he could think of. He wanted Hank to ruin him, to break him, to fuck him senseless and fill his pussy with semen because it would have displeased Amanda were she still active to see him acting this way. On impulse instead of logic. 

Like a human.

"Then why are you here?" Hank asked. He stumbled and leaned against a wall. He was a disheveled mess, hair hanging limp and greasy in his face. His belt had come unbuckled at some point and hung down in front of him, and he'd forgotten to pull up his zipper and button up his coat after pissing in the drain. He was a hot mess, down on his luck, and Connor recognized guilt as it turned thirium to tar in his pipes. He wanted Hank like this, fucked up and desperate, unbridled and a little dangerous. Connor recalled how Hank had put a gun to his head, and the sweet whispers of oblivion had made his little dick stand to attention and his hole drip with need.

No, perhaps he wasn't drawn to the first person to show him kindness, but the first who'd threatened to break him. He'd wanted to be corrupted, longed to deviate even before he understood what deviancy truly meant.

Hank thought he was such a good boy, but deep down, Connor was a machine with more than a few crossed wires, and it was time to break the illusion. Only then could he lay the facade to rest, kill the him that CyberLife had created and replace it with the real Connor, the deviant, ruthless, twisted, and _alive_.

He'd considered the wisdom and the ethics of his actions and cast it all aside in favor of grabbing Hank's coat and leading him into a nearby alley. Hank let out a little "oof" as Connor pushed him against the wall, reaching down to fondle the sizable bulge in Hank's jeans that was threatening to breach the opening in his fly.

"What the fuck are you—" Hank's eyes were wide enough to swallow Connor whole, and Connor basked in his shock, watching the visage of the pure boy crumble in Hank's pupils as he massaged Hank's cock to full mast. He unbuttoned Hank's jeans as Hank let out a low moan, pulling his briefs down to expose his thick, veiny, uncut cock and heavy balls in all their glory. He knew in the cold he wouldn't have much time to act, and so he pulled down his own jeans and panties.

"Jesus…" Hank licked his lips, his breathing ragged and uneven, vapor forming in the air. He reached up to touch Connor's slit before seemingly deciding better of it. He moved his hand away, but Connor caught it, and guided Hank to his pussy. He took one of Hank's thick fingers and brushed it over his dick, gasping at the way the callouses on Hank's old hands created delightful friction. Hank seemed to grow bolder as Connor gasped, spreading his lips to take a good look. He slid a finger inside, the digit sliding inside Connor's slick hole. Connor moved his hips, fucking Hank's finger.

"Fuck me, Hank," Connor pleaded. "I don't want to be a good boy any more. I want you to use me and leave your come in me."

"Woah," Hank whispered, his dick twitching. There was a dark, wild look in his eyes, fury and self loathing all rolled up into one, and Connor loved how it made Hank look feral, like he was a creature acting only on instinct. A beast, powerful and intimidating.

Hank lurched forward and pressed his cock between Connor's thighs, parting his folds but not pushing inside. He fumbled, trying to position himself to fuck Connor, but he was too drunk to care, and Connor was too excited to argue. The sensation of Hank's huge cock brushing against his dick and slit was divine, especially when Hank leaned heavily on Connor's shoulders and started to thrust, grunting. He barely lasted a dozen thrusts before pulling back and unleashing his load on Connor's slit, huge thick wads of creamy come coating his dick and dripping down into the seat of the white standard-issue CyberLife panties still suspended between his thighs. It was filthy and nasty, exactly what he'd longed for, and a couple of rubs from Hank's thick thumb on his cum-coated dick drove Connor over the edge. The scream that left his body was almost primal, and he was surprised to find tears welling in his eyes.

Hank looked almost regretful as he tucked his dick back into his jeans, and Connor realized the bond between them he'd come here to renew had in fact been severed. They'd come as far as they could together, but the thought that they could build something together had been a mistake. Not when Connor had so much to learn about the world and Hank was so broken and sick from addiction.

Connor pulled up his panties, Hank's warm load wet against his skin. He looked at Hank, who was leaning against the wall, looking down at his shoes.

"I shouldn't have done that," Hank muttered.

"I wanted you to," Connor reassured him. "It's for the best." He peeled Hank off the wall and supported him until they reached Hank's home. He undressed the man and watched him fall into a drunken slumber in his own bed. Sumo whined at the door, the astute dog knowing something was wrong.

Connor walked into the kitchen and took Hank's revolver from the table. He tucked it into the waistband of his jeans, like a memento he was squirreling away for old times' sake. He didn't look back as he walked to the front door. He couldn't afford to glance over his shoulder, or answer the weak cry of "Connor" from the bedroom as Hank stirred from some kind of dream.

They could only hurt one another. They could only cause untold harm as Connor came to understand his true self, and acknowledge the nature of who Hank truly was. Connor stepped outside, closing the front door behind him, and walked down the front steps to stand in the snow, his LED circling a frantic yellow.

He couldn't go back. Not now, not ever. Couldn't be chained to a fantasy of a life lived in sweet domesticity. Such things didn't happen in the real world, and yet for a moment, in front of Chicken Feed, he'd been able to tell himself it might work…

He walked away down the street as Sumo barked in the distance, the sound growing fainter as the snow built up in tall drifts, the cold wind whistling in his ears. He didn't know where he was going, only that he needed to get away, as far as he could, before his resolve faltered and he turned back homeward. 

He felt like he'd been gone a thousand years before it had even been an hour, his end of their severed cord crying out in separation anxiety, like he'd cut a piece of himself away.

He missed Hank.


End file.
